


Trim

by elaine



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-22
Updated: 1999-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: Ray Kowalski leaps to a wrong conclusion and the Mounties trim their hair. This story was created by Anagi, who kindly allowed me to add to it.





	Trim

I think I'm committing a felony here. No, it's not like they can close Canada at a certain hour, right? Shit, I feel like an idiot. Fraser's gonna be fine, I'm gonna end up in lockup and Welsh will have my ass and my badge. But I gotta make sure. I'll just creep in, quiet as you please, check him over and then be gone. Nobody'll be the wiser.

Not my fault anyway. It's the damn Mountie's. Moping around the station like he's lost his best friend. Well, maybe he did, but, hell, that's not my problem. I'm just here to do a job. In and out, be Ray Vecchio for a few months, transfer quietly away, get a citation in my file, maybe a promotion and move on. I am so all over that. But can it be that easy? No. Gotta make friends with a freak. Running around in that hat and bright target-red 'take a pot-shot at me' uniform.

So the Mountie's a little depressed. I mean, I've heard the rumors about him and Vecchio. Damn, I think I'd do man if I swung that way - what's not to want? Those baby blues, the hair, that entire tongue thing he's got going on. What the hell is up with that by the way? Christ, I need to get the guy some chapstick or something. Anyway, Vecchio must be something else to keep a looker like that on a leash. So, his boyfriend is gone - It's not the end of the world. Stella left me and I turned out fine.

Well, it ain't the end of the world anyway.

But you know what? I'd listen if he wanted to talk about it. As long as he didn't give out details. That'd be way too much information. But he won't even say anything beyond 'I misplaced something dear' and then do that damn eyebrow thing. So here I am, sneaking into the consulate in the middle of the damn night to make sure he's okay. Freak.

Let's see, the light's on in his office, I'll just peek around the corner and. See? There he is, sitting on his cot. Sharpening his straight razor on a leather strap? Okay. It's still all right. Maybe it's just a Mountie thing. I bet they do things like that. They all sit around in nothing but towels and sharpen their straight razors and then press them against the inside of their wris...

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He's gonna kill himself.

"Fraser! Don't do it!"

Fuck. When did I pull my gun? This don't seem right. I'm about to hyperventilate and I'm holding my gun on my partner to keep him from killing himself. I'm gonna faint.

"Ray?" He's just staring at me with that damn calm facid faka expression that he's always got. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What the hell are you doing here, Fraser, huh?" Oh, that's just great. Get all belligerent on him. Maybe I should lower my gun? Be calm. I can do that.

See I'm slowly lowering my weapon and putting it away and he's still sitting there like we're having a picnic in the park. At least he hasn't got the razor at his wrist anymore. He's just sharpening it again?

"Fraser! Stop that! Things will be okay, it doesn't have to end like this." Man, I don't know what else to say. "Vecchio'll be back in a few weeks and you guys can be together again. True love triumphs and all that crap, right?" That stopped him. Oh yeah, I got it going on now. Pitter-patter.

"What are you talking about Ray?" Now he's raising both eyebrows at me. Like I'm a nutcase or something! I'm not the one trying to kill himself. "Oh good, Turnbull, right over here." What the.?

"Thank you, Sir." Shit! The other freaky Mountie just walks right on by me and drops an armload of stuff on Fraser's desk. He must have been here all along. Didn't he know what the hell was up? "Oh, I see that you found your father's blade. Very fortuitous of you, Sir, I know how much you've been pining for it." And then he's turning to face me. "Good Evening, Detective. How are you?" Like I'm gonna answer!

"What the hell is wrong with the both of you?" I'm shaking and thinking about taking my gun out again, because Fraser's running the blade along his arm

...shaving off his arm hair to see if the blade is sharp enough to...

Oh.

Fuck.

Fraser's had a haircut, I can see the pile of hair in the corner, and when I look at him, he's lost a good half-inch. Nice sharp edge to the neckline. Straight razor sharp. Turnbull's hair is wet and messy and there's a pair of clippers in the mess he dumped on the desk. The mess of towels and shaving cream and combs. Hey, I use that kind of mousse too.

Oh, yeah. I am so screwed.

The only thing Fraser's in danger of are uneven sideburns.

Fraser and Vecchio. I'm a nutcase. Anyone with half a brain can see that Fraser ain't moping over a balding Italian. I'm out of here. Don't even bother to say goodbye. Just pivot and go, smooth like I'm dancing. Whistle my way on out of here, thank you kindly. "Oh, hey, Turnbull, you don't have to walk me to the door. Thanks anyway, see you later, bye."

I need a beer. Hell, I need a six-pack. Or two.

**

Fraser was sorting through the items on his desk when Turnbull returned.

"Did you lock up, Constable?" he asked without looking up from his task.

"Yes, Sir."

Fraser motioned to the corner of his desk and Turnbull hopped up. He removed his towel when Fraser harrumphed lightly and asked if it were wet. Tossing it to the floor, he waited for the other man to finish organizing things. "What exactly did Detective Vecchio want, Sir?" he inquired, rather curious about the odd man.

"I'm not sure exactly. I do believe he thinks that Detective Vecchio - the other one - and I have a rather intimate..." Nodding his satisfaction at the precise arrangement, he turned and looked at Turnbull. "Good Lord, Turnbull, did you do that yourself? It looks as if you used Dief's dog shears."

The younger man blushed and bent his head. "I told you I need help. I really admire yours, but honestly, I can't figure out how you do it." Fraser handed him a mirror and frowned again at the mess before him. "As you were saying, Sir - about you and the original detective," anxious to steer the conversation away from his lack of skill with clippers.

"It appears that he's under the notion that we were sexually involved." The soothing vibration of clippers filled the air and tickled his spine.

"Were you?"

"No, no." Fraser shook his head, concentrating on his task. "Ray was so forcefully heterosexual, he had me sleeping with a woman." They both chuckled.

Angling the mirror, Turnbull watched avidly as the pointed tip of a leaf came into sharp relief against his skin. "Americans are rather strange, aren't they?"

Fraser looked up from his position between the strong blocky thighs. "Very much so." He took the semi-erect penis in front of him and pushed it down with a gentle stroke, touching the clippers to Turnbull's shaping-up-nicely pubic hair. "Really, Turnbull, one would think you'd never even seen a maple leaf before"

Turnbull acknowledged the criticism with some discomfiture and silence fell between them for a while, broken only by the hum of the clippers.

Unfortunately for the younger Mountie's sense of decorum, his penis refused to stay in its assigned position. Fraser pursed his lips and considered the alternatives, then reached for his razor.

It occurred to Turnbull that there were inherent dangers in the close proximity of his penis to a straight razor, but he held his peace. Wisely, as it turned out… Fraser set aside the razor and looked up at him with an exasperated sigh. Turnbull hung his head.

"I suppose I'll have to do something about this." Fraser studied the unrepentant penis, fully erect now. His voice bordered on the peevish.

The thing was to decide on a suitable course of action and then to carry it out according to plan. He leaned forward and closed his lips around the hot, fleshy glans, ignoring Turnbull's strangled gasp. He noted, approvingly, that Turnbull was resolutely grasping the edge of the desk with both hands.

"Oh! Oh, Sir!" Although Turnbull hadn't moved, Fraser took the precaution of holding his thighs firmly in place as his lips slid down the shaft and back up again. "Ooh!"

Perhaps he should simply deep throat him. It would be more efficient, he was sure, but he decided against it. Though he would never admit it, he was enjoying himself too much to cut it short. Accompanied by Turnbull's vocal expressions of pleasure, Fraser pursued his chosen course of action to a satisfactory conclusion.

"Now…" Fraser picked up his razor again and deftly applied the finishing touches.

The mirror revealed to Turnbull's admiring gaze a perfectly shaped maple leaf of closely clipped pubic hair. He smiled delightedly. "Thank you, Sir. I really do appreciate your help."

"Just try to keep it that way, Turnbull." Fraser was busily gathering up his instruments. "It shouldn't be beyond your capabilities."

"No, Sir." His tone indicated some doubt on that point, but Turnbull slid off the desk and reached for the small dust pan and brush. It only took a moment to tidy away the clippings and then he turned to his superior, studying the towel with a knowledgable eye. "I hope you won't think it forward of me, Sir, but…"

"Not at all, Constable." Fraser relaxed slightly. It was always a rather delicate situation where rank was involved. "It's unfortunate that your… ah… impetuosity has limited our options somewhat, but I'm sure we can think of something." He removed his towel, folding it neatly and placing it beside the clothing he'd discarded earlier in the evening. With a small frown he aligned the edge of his boxers a little more precisely with the jeans beneath them. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes… you'll find what we need in the second drawer."

"The second drawer?" Turnbull rarely felt moved to question his hero, but this seemed to be bordering on the foolhardy. "Is that… um…"

"Inspector Thatcher never looks in there." Fraser allowed himself a discreetly satisfied smile. "She once found something that was not to her liking."

"Oh?" Then illumination struck. "Ah… yes, I think I remember that day." Turnbull giggled suddenly. "I heard her… uh… reprimanding you."

Privately, Fraser thought that the entire population of the Greater Chicago area could have heard that particular reprimand, but it would be beneath his dignity to say so. He merely flinched a little. "Have you found it?"

"Yes, Sir." Turnbull's head emerged from behind the desk, his face a little flushed. He dropped a remarkably varied collection of objects on the desk and retrieved a small tube of lubricant and a square of foil. "Is there anything else you want, Sir?" He gestured vaguely at the remaining objects and tried not to look relieved when Fraser shook his head.

"Not this time, Turnbull. Would you mind?"

"Oh!" Flustered, Turnbull hurried over to Fraser and tore open the foil packet. "May I?"

Fraser indicated, rather regally, that he could go ahead and watched as the young man rolled the condom, with almost military precision, onto his penis.

Having arranged the condom to his satisfaction Turnbull stepped back and turned away. He leaned forward over the desk, bracing himself with his arms locked straight. A blue eye peered back over his left shoulder. "Is this suitable, Sir?"

Fraser considered the broad shoulders, the sturdy hips and the out-thrust buttocks complacently. "Perfectly adequate, thank you, Turnbull." He positioned himself behind his companion and eased the head of his penis past the outer sphincter of Turnbull's anus.

Pausing considerately to allow the young man to adjust, Fraser allowed himself to wonder how his new partner had come to such a misconception regarding his relationship with Ray Vecchio. Perhaps he ought to set the record straight, and yet… there could be advantages in continuing the misunderstanding. "Hmm…"

"Sir?"

"Oh, nothing important, Turnbull. Are you comfortable?"

"Oh yes, Sir." Turnbull squirmed a little.

"Then we can proceed." Fraser slid smoothly to his full depth and began to rock his hips cautiously, trying various angles. Turnbull yelped. "This?" He tried to duplicate the previous thrust exactly and received a fervent reassurance that this was indeed the correct angle. "Good."

Once the correct angle was established it was simply a matter of varying the speed and depth of the thrusts to provide adequate stimulation. Almost as an afterthought, and because his grandmother had raised him to be thorough in all his endeavours, Fraser reached around to grasp Turnbull's penis. He found it, much to his surprise to be almost fully erect.

Of course, Turnbull was seven years his junior… the thought that his own sexual prowess might be in any way inferior caused a momentary frown, but really, he was far more experienced than Turnbull. He decided to be magnanimous. "I must congratulate you, Turnbull, on a quite impressive girth and length."

"Tha… thank you, Sir." Turnbull was panting heavily. Lack of experience. Fraser smiled and increased his pace. "Ooh… oooohhh…. Sir!"

Premature ejaculation too… he conveniently forgot Turnbull's earlier orgasm. His own was considerably more restrained. After a moment to catch his breath, Fraser politely withdrew.

"That will be all, Turnbull."

"Yes, Sir." The younger man drew himself up into a formal stance. "May I say it was a pleasure to assist you. And thank you for my maple leaf."

Fraser glanced down at the outline of the maple leaf with some complacency. Of course the effect on Turnbull's body was less dramatic than his own, due to his lighter hair colouring, but still, he fancied, a perfectly acceptable result. It certainly framed the impressive genitalia of his colleague rather grandly.

"You realise, I hope, that you'll need to touch it up every four or five days to keep it looking its best."

"Of course, Sir." Turnbull turned big blue eyes on his superior. "I just... would you mind giving me a hand with that, Sir?"

Fraser frowned slightly, though the request by no means displeased him.

"I'd hate to spoil your fine work, Sir." Turnbull looked at him pleadingly.

"Well..." Fraser pretended to consider the request for a moment. "Very well, Turnbull. Friday, then. Will you be free?"

"Oh yes, Sir." There was a touch of adoration in Turnbull's voice. "Thank you kindly." He gathered together his belongings and left the room.

A tiny smile lingered on Fraser's face. "Not at all, Turnbull. Thank you kindly." He wondered briefly if it would be bad for discipline if he were the one to bend over his desk next time.

 


End file.
